Dreaming of sleep

Note to self: You will someday miss the sweet moments of nursing a babe overnight in the quiet stillness of an otherwise sleeping household. Cradling that sweet bundle in your arms in bed and drifting off to sleep together, a breastfeeding diad.

You will miss having little ones come crawling in to bed for a cuddle after a bad dream. Or because they woke and missed you.

You will sleep again, but until then remember that these moments are special and something you will treasure. Someday. When you are well rested and having to wake sleepy teenagers.

Another One Bites the Dust

We have been picked off one by one in the last week by a really nasty germ.

Last night it got our five-year-old about midnight. It was spectacular: He's got the top bunk. It was a parental nightmare of a clean-up.

He sweetly woke me when he felt sick two more times, then, curiously, another time just to let me know that he woke up and didn't get sick. Unfortunately I'd just nursed baby girl to sleep and he woke her with his chatter to me.

Sleep. You elusive thing.

Happy Birthday my sweet Rose

I can't believe it has been a year since my baby girl was born on the Feast Day for St. Francis. How did 365 days go by so quickly?

Happy Birthday to the littlest set of busy hands in our house. She loved her cake today, and her presents, but most of all she loves paper products. Like napkins, her brothers' magazines or books, and toilet paper. Forget the toys that blink or beep, give our girl some paper!

Setting the record straight when you have siblings

After kindergarten today the teacher came up to me laughing and laughing. She said during their morning sharing time she had my son on one side of her and his little Aussie buddy on the other. The children were all telling the class something about their day, evening, life, big thoughts, whatever came to mind. The exchange between my little guy, who has three siblings, and another boy from a family with four children had her in stitches.

When it was my son's turn, we'll call him Book'em, he said, "I fell down the stairs yesterday, but I'm okay. No bruises or cuts. I didn't cry."

She said all the kids murmured their concern except for his little pal, who moved here with his parents and three sisters from Australia last spring. This little guy peeked around the teacher and asked Book'em, "So did your little brother push you down the stairs then?"

And Book'em responded quickly, "No. Not this time." To which is pal said, "Ah, right. An accident then."

Life with little siblings. Sometimes you just trip and sometimes you're pushed.

Gold star moment

I always wonder how I'm doing as a mum. Am I patient enough? Am I too busy cleaning? Am I too lenient, too strict, and I always feel too tired. Today was one of those moments I'm going to treasure for always.

Our oldest boy is and always has been a blankie boy. G-man's blanket is a pale blue crib blanket edged in blue ribbon. Blue has been mended recently with a long brocade ribbon to hide a big tear that developed. Today G-man sadly showed me another thread unravelling.

"Why is Blue falling apart Mumma?" he asked, full of concern.

We were sitting down to lunch and I said, "Well, honey, Blue has been well-loved and so he's starting to fall apart a little."

And before I could continue and reassure him we could fix Blue up again, G-man said, "But I've been well loved and I'm not falling apart."

Oh, my heart soared! Yes, you are well loved. Maybe we don't always get it right the first time and sometimes mis-step in our parenting, but overall you get it. You get it!

Creative snacking

My youngest, our baby girl I'll call Rosie, is 11 months old and teething. Oh, baby, is she teething. I think we're working on the eye teeth.

Teething means disrupted naps. This seems to result in really disrupted nights. And that makes me a very sleepy and not-so-bright Mumma.

My oldest, G-man, had a dreadful time teething but defied conventional remedies. He screamed at cold frozen cloths. Tylenol seemed to have no effect. He cried, I rocked and nursed, he cried, I soothed, he chewed the wood on his little bed so much so that it looked like our dog had been gnawing.

Our wee Rosie seems to take to cold if it is edible. Frozen peas. Frozen corn. Frozen blueberries. They all melt quickly and she gobbles them. I think the chewing is good, the taste is distracting and the cold soothing for her poor gums.

And nursing. Thank God for breastfeeding, the ultimate hug of comfort. And being able to snuggle with her and doze while she nurses. Otherwise I'd be the zombie mummy!!

He didn't cry wolf this time

My oldest son, we'll call him G-man, is seven. He decided, on a misguided whim, to see whether the stove element was still hot moments after I removed a boiling pot from it. You can guess the answer to that question.

Horrible burn, lots of cold water for hours, lots of kisses, soothing him till he fell asleep clutching a not-quite-frozen ice pack later and he's sporting the battle scars with a sort of pride.

He relished showing off the wound on his thumb today to people at Mass and to our neighbours (my photo is terrible but as my husband aptly described it, picture those really fake looking grill marks on tofu dogs) . G-man told everyone of his folly and shared with them that he may have in fact a genetic predisposition to testing for immense quantities of heat. When his father was about the same age, he tested the temperature of an ash pile by sticking his hand into it and discovering that it was, in fact, smouldering. I, his mother, at the age of three decided to see if the matches just snuffed out by my pipe-smoking father and grandfather were still hot by sticking them on my tongue. Ooooh boy.

Here's to hoping G-man takes after us for more than just rash, stupid decision-making and self-injury. But you know, he can spin a good story and his sense of comedy was right on.

Catholic Mumma, three boys

Who is protecting whom?

Patron saint or superhero?

Getting through the Monster Hour

Like many mothers, I sure do my share of daily driving. We have always had fun playing music, moving from the Wiggles to CDs my husband has made for the boys (heavily influenced – ahem – by Daddy’s taste in musical genres). Then the other week at the library we noticed something overlooked before: Audio books.

We are totally loving audio books! It has been so much fun in the van, particularly after school or when we go to get their Daddy from work during that cranky-before-dinner time we refer to as the Monster Hour. Audio books are magical antidotes to grumpy kids, fighting brothers and an equally impatient crabby mummy. They were a lifesaver when we visited friends in the US a few weeks ago and had to wait two hours at the border crossing both going and returning to Canada.

My first choice, Ramona the Pest by Beverly Cleary, was met with some misgivings by my two older boys because it was about GIRLS. Their determination not to enjoy it was matched only by my determination to play it anyway. And they loved it. They loved Howie and adored Ramona’s mischief. We’ve now listened to two more Ramona books, Henry Huggins and the Paper Route and Henry and Ribsy.

I love Beverly Cleary’s books still and I’m glad my children are enjoying them as much as I did. And we’re going to keep borrowing audio books to get us through the Monster Hour by stretching our imaginations.

Prayer for twin angel babies

Our eldest son's friend's family is marking the birthday of his twin baby brothers today, but they're not there for the cake and candles. These little ones were born over a month early this date last year and despite all best efforts did not make it.

The family is Philippino and in their culture, his mother told me today, they will celebrate their deceased little ones' birthday this year, and the anniversary of their death next year. She spent the day mourning and grieving her little boys today as she cooked a birthday feast, which makes my heart just ache for her sorrow and empty arms. I can't even begin to imagine the depth of such sadness.

Particularly poignant to me is that her little boys were due the same time as our baby girl. And yet this lovely woman is so generous to me and my children, sharing with me her sorrow of her lost babies but so loving with my little daughter.

She had her husband deliver a vast amount of delicious home-cooked food to share with our family tonight. She said cooking all day was her therapy and it makes her happy to think of our children sharing in this birthday meal.

We said a prayer for them and for their little angel babies, wishing peace and healing for this family at such a trying time.

Break a dauber

Part of being a Catholic school parent is working the school fundraising bingo. I had my first shift last night as cashier, a once-a-month position, and was dreading it because a lot of people who work at our bingo do everything they can to procure positions where they don't have to work directly with a little hardcore group of grumpy bingo players.

Picture Royal Canadian Air Farce's bingo sketch (little troll and animal good luck charms lined up, a gazillion cards, multiple coloured bingo daubers) minus the smoking, because of course in BC you can't smoke inside anywhere. Thank goodness! Not only because we don't have to breathe second-hand smoke but because those cranky ones have to go outside the hall every now and again for their nic breaks.

I know from other cashiers that if you take too long with these particular fanatical bingo players they actually start to berate you and heckle. I also knew from the days when I did set-up before my last babe was born and my brief training last week who the worst of them was. When she came to the window I said loudly, "Now you be nice! I don't know your crazy bingo lingo yet so don't even try to confuse me!" Everyone around her burst out laughing and she was stunned into compliant silence. She looked annoyed, but everyone else was dying with laughter.

You see, they say stuff like, "Give me a nine up, two and two." And you're supposed to know that means nine cards, two early birds and twoonie card. Yipes. It's more challenging that Tim Hortons and the old double-double speak for coffee.

I told all the nice people their tickets were extra lucky, to reinforce their niceness. I told them to "break a dauber" in a moment of comedic genius for the bingo hall apparently. I've got a million of them baby!

And I figured out another weapon to fend off the nasty players and amuse the nice ones: I turned their superstitions back on them. If someone got testy that I was taking too long with the cash register or understanding what cards they wanted I'd smile brightly and chirp, "Easy now. It's my first night. If your card seller gets grumpy with all of you I think it's unlucky!!"

Gentling the lions into lambs, daubers, glue sticks, lucky charms and all.

It’s all in how you look at it

I consider myself a pretty optimistic person. Sometimes my optimism annoys my husband, or I tease him that we’re living the glass half full or half empty argument. But sometimes it takes other people to show me what I’ve missed.

Like yesterday. A good friend here was let go from her position. She wasn’t happy with some changes in senior management, but she’s a great worker and a fantastic person. We found out she was let go on Friday with a four-month severance package when one friend called her work number and a message said she no longer was employed there.

I was shocked. And stunned that any company would do that to a good person, but keep so many incompetent people. I felt sorry that she had to deal with being let go and couldn’t imagine being called into that room and told, “You must leave.”

And then a friend outside the whole situation said, well, better let go than quit if you’re that unhappy in a position because at least if you’re let go you get severance. If you quit you get nothing.

I hadn’t thought of it that way. Another woman I know said at least our friend gets paid vacation time after the last few months, which have been harsh.

True. This company owes at least that.

The next one is a puppy

How do people know when they're done having children?

I guess I was blessed with good pregnancies and natural births, so I didn't have those factors to deter me from subsequent pregnancies. My husband now says that, "The next one's a puppy!" and I can't say I feel strongly that I wouldn't want another baby, as completely crazy as that might seem.

I guess I'm thinking of my friend Lisha who says she just doesn't, "feel like everyone is here yet" contrasted with the nasty comment that woman made to me the other day about contracepting to keep families small.

How did you know when your family was complete?

Do you think she meant to say that on the outside?

I know that not everyone wants to have a big family these days. We have four little blessings ages seven and under, which I know is maybe a little bit of self-inflicted insanity in some people's opinions. But for us, it's all good. We planned each child and joyfully waited for the new little person to join our family.

Yesterday we went for a walk, two in the double stroller, one each side, everyone munching fresh apricots from a local fruit market. Happy. One of those parenting moments we all like to enjoy; no one was fighting or fussing, it was a glorious day and all was well. An older woman was walking towards us and my older boy automatically went to the same side of the stroller as his younger brother to leave her room to pass. The manners were working! And as I watched her approach us I nearly said, "Well, don't you look nice." Because she did look nice in a short little strappy sundress with her grey hair pulled back in a chignon.

As this fancy clad matron drew alongside us she beat me to speech with a loud, "Whatever happened to the Pill?" comment that left me speechless. Speechless.

I have to say that it takes a LOT to leave me speechless. Words are not something I have to scramble for, but in this case all I could do was sputter. The true outrage and indignation hit me a few minutes later, but she was too far away for me to respond to her complete rudeness.

Why is it her business how many children we've chosen to have? She's not paying for them. We're thrilled to have them. I certainly don't go around advising people on how many people they need in their families.

If I ever run into this woman on the streets again I'd love to ask her which of my four children should I not have had? I absolutely cannot imagine life without my three boys or my baby girl. Why does she care how many I have?

Some day my children may take care of her in her old age in some professional capacity. If that happens she'll have to count herself lucky because already my children are kinder to strangers than she is.